


Becoming

by Cephy



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Angst, Drunkenness, Fighting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-02
Updated: 2006-06-01
Packaged: 2017-10-06 23:21:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cephy/pseuds/Cephy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cid has never been able to resist a mystery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meetings, Monsters, and Trust

The Tiny Bronco rocked on the waves, and the highest point of the Number 26 finally passed out of sight behind them. Cid stared after it, and he knew he was probably sulking but, _shit_, he sure as hell had reason. He'd never made it a secret that he wanted to get out of that dead-end town, but this certainly wasn't how he'd imagined doing it. Using his Bronco as a _boat_, for fuck's sake. It just wasn't right.

Sucking the last bit of smoke out of his cig, he pulled out another and lit it from the butt without really thinking about it, then tossed the old one overboard and watched it fizzle against the water. He stared at the ripples until the last of them faded, then heaved a sigh and finally looked up.

His new companions weren't doing much more than he was-- not much _to_ do, way the hell out here. The kid with the hair-- Cloud? What the hell kind of name was that? He was fiddling with the controls, getting comfortable with the ship, and Cid was grudgingly approving of that, at least. He supposed the kid didn't seem like a bad sort-- a bit off in the head, maybe, but then the whole lot of them were going up against ShinRa, so they'd have to be.

They'd dropped off the girl with the rack on shore a while back, sent her to do something somewhere else-- he hadn't been paying too much attention. Too busy with his poor Bronco, since at that point he hadn't quite given up on getting her to fly again. The girl-- Tifa, he remembered at last-- had smiled at him before she left, and gone off with a wave, talking about meeting up with some others. Leaving him with the kid and--

He finally looked over to the other wing, and the guy perched on the end of it-- and just about looked away again, still not really seeing much worth looking _at_. But Cid made himself watch, figuring if he was going to be traveling with the guy he should at least make _some_ effort.

He hadn't introduced himself to Cid with the others. Hadn't said much of anything at all, really. Hadn't even changed his expression, or bloody well _moved_ in an hour, as far as Cid could tell. Just sat there with most of himself tucked away under that ratty old cape, eyes half-hidden beneath that weird-ass hat, staring out at nothing. All the apparent personality of an old oilrag.

Cid snorted faintly. How the hell _that_ guy had come to be in this crowd, he just didn't--

At that moment, they came out into open water at last and hit the coastal winds. The guy's cape escaped his hold, flapping out behind. And just for a minute, before the guy could pull it closed again, Cid clearly saw five golden claws curled in a loose fist.

His view was blocked again within seconds, but it had been enough to pique an interest-- because those joints had looked finer than anything he'd seen before, and how exactly had they got the tips ground to such a fine point without warping the curve? And while he was on the subject-- just where the _hell_ had Mr. Talkative _got_ that?

The guy turned his head and caught Cid staring. His hand-- not the interesting one, more's the pity-- pulled the cape a little tighter around him, and he finally seemed to _look_ at Cid.

And something beneath that red gaze writhed before settling again. Just a shifting of something strange under the surface, but it made all of Cid's basic survival instincts sit up and take notice. _Here_, his mind said, _is a predator. So watch your fucking back._

The guy looked away, staring back out at the water. After a moment Cid followed suit, though he couldn't help but glance back a few times, feeling like maybe he'd been wrong, and there was something interesting there after all. A mystery, at the very least.

And he'd never been able to resist taking something apart to see how it worked.

* * *

Traveling on land had never been Cid's preferred mode of transportation. Going by air was the best, fast and fun and reliable. Even water he could handle, if there was someone at least half-competent at the helm. But going by _foot_ over an entire gods-damned continent and a half-- it left a whole hell of a lot to be desired.

Though even that wouldn't have been so bad if it weren't for the gods-damned monsters attacking them _every five fucking minutes_.

Cid swung his spear like a club, clearing a space around him, cursing in a constant stream under his breath. One of the things-- giant fucking rats, he would have said, if it weren't for all the _eyes_\-- made a lunge, and he spitted it with a twist of his arm. It fell, and another came in while his weapon was tangled-- he lifted a foot and kicked the damned thing in the nose, pushing it away long enough to bring his spear back into play.

And for a moment, just then, he found he had breathing room. He paused as long as he dared, shaking out his shoulders, before turning to find the next thing to fight-- and the first sight he saw was Vincent on his knees, pushing back a huge fucking rat that, even as Cid watched, lunged forward to take a big chunk out of Vincent's shoulder.

Cid gave a yell and ran forward-- or started to, only to come to a stunned halt when Vincent _growled_, audible even over the noise of battle, and just threw the thing off him like it was nothing. And then-- he stood, hunched over, and shuddered, and _rippled_ and faded until there was _something else_ in his place.

And Cid could only stand and gape as the beast with the mad, red eyes leaped forward and eviscerated its foe with one effortless swipe. He didn't realize he was speaking until the sound of his own voice reached his ears. "Well, fuck me."

The beast must have heard him, or sensed him watching, because its head turned sharply towards him. For a moment, both seemed to stare-- and then Cid was forcibly reminded that they were in the middle of a battle, as something slammed hard into his side. For a while, then, there was no time for anything except the swing and lunge of the spear and the wearying rush of adrenaline. But eventually, eventually, all of the things were dead, and he could let his arms drop even as the others did the same around him.

He caught an odd glimmer out of the corner of his eye and turned just in time to see the strange beast disappear back into the more familiar form of Vincent-- a Vincent who swayed on his feet for a moment with his face wearing more of an expression than Cid had ever seen on him. Like he'd just woken up, maybe-- a little confused, a little stunned, not quite in control just yet.

It didn't last; the man got hold of himself swiftly, and the expression faded back to neutrality. Then, showing some of the same instincts his other form had, Vincent turned his head directly to meet Cid's stare.

He held Cid's gaze for a moment, but in the end it was he who broke the staring match by turning away.

* * *

Cosmo Canyon, Cid decided, while no doubt real fucking boring in the long term, was still a damned sight better than a lot of places he could've been just then. It was quiet, comfortable enough, and had _no fucking monsters_, which was probably the most important feature. The food was okay and the fire was warm, and that wasn't a bad way to spend an evening by anyone's books.

For once, too, the rest of their group had caught up with them-- a few had joined them at points along the road, but always split off again before too long. This was the first time he'd seen them all together at once. True to his first instincts, they all had a few screws loose, but in the grand scheme of things they seemed like an okay bunch. It hadn't taken too much to get them to warm up to him and even, on one memorable occasion, buy him a drink.

With an exception of one. Vincent fucking Valentine, who still barely spoke, at least where Cid could hear. And while the rest seemed willing to let that sort of behavior stand, the attitude was starting to eat at Cid's admittedly limited patience.

Well, he was sick of wondering, and as he'd never been one to beat around the bush if the direct route was the best way to get things done-- it would only take one conversation to get things straightened out, if he was lucky. Never mind that his luck had mostly gone to shit lately. And never mind the fact that he thought the other man was flat-out _avoiding _him, and _had_ been avoiding him since that fight with the rats. It was hard not to get that impression when someone tended to vanish from the room not long after you entered, even if you never actually saw them leave.

It was almost enough to hurt a guy's feelings. It if wasn't so gods-be-damned _annoying_.

Cid eyed the end of his spear as the inn door thumped closed behind him, automatically heading towards the fire. They spent most evenings there, it seemed, tending their gear or talking or just sitting and watching the flames, and tonight was no exception-- he glanced up as he approached and saw quite a few figures haloed against the light.

Including, to his surprise, Vincent.

He paused, blinking as if he expected the guy to vanish right then and there in front of him, but that red-wrapped silhouette just stayed sitting by the fire. Never one to waste an opportunity, Cid walked up to the man and sat down next to him, settling his spear across his lap and pulling out the rag he used to clean it. "So," he said, starting to pick at the blood dried on the tip. "What's your deal?"

Vincent gave him the barest of sidelong looks. "I beg your pardon?"

Cid shrugged, waving the rag, not looking up. "Just makin' small talk."

"Ah," came the reply. "I'm afraid I'm not much for conversation. If you'll excuse me--"

"Sit your ass down, you pasty bastard," Cid said sharply when Vincent made a motion to rise. "You and me, we've gotta work together, and that ain't gonna happen with you running away all the fucking time. So sit the hell down and talk."

Cid nearly held his breath, watching out of the corner of his eye, waiting for a reaction. But Vincent just blinked, and stood there-- and, eventually, settled back to the ground. Cid _nearly_ managed to swallow his grin. "Why've you been running, anyway?" he asked bluntly. "I mean, I know I don't smell _that_ bad. Most of the time."

The man looked reluctant to speak but eventually opened his mouth. "I assumed you wouldn't care for my company."

Cid lifted an eyebrow. "And why's that?"

Even _more_ reluctantly now-- like each word was pulled from him with pliers. "I heard what you said, during that battle. You seemed-- less than impressed, with my change."

"Is that all?" Cid reached out casually and knocked the guy on the shoulder, and ignored the way Vincent nearly jumped in surprise. "Dumbass. You've gotta let a guy be a bit surprised. I mean, it's not somethin' you see every day." He paused thoughtfully. "Gotta be pretty handy in a pinch, though. I mean, you're out by yourself, it's like built-in backup."

Vincent just blinked at him again, like he'd said something either incredibly startling or incredibly _stupid_\-- like he'd never expected to _ever _hear someone say those words. He fixed Cid with a solemn red stare. "I find it difficult to believe that something so monstrous could ever be other than a curse."

For a moment, all Cid could do was stare, but then he snorted out a helpless laugh. "Oh, come _on_," he managed to say. "That's the biggest pile of shit I've ever heard." He gave another explosive snort. "So you turn into something big and nasty-- big fucking deal. Take away my tea in the morning, you'll see me get a bit beasty myself."

A faint, bewildered smile passed across the other man's face, there and gone again almost instantly. But Cid saw it, and barely kept a rather smug grin from escaping him.

They continued to talk-- or rather, Cid talked, and very occasionally got replies-- and during the course of the conversation he got a few more of those smiles. In fact, by the end, that bewildered look had crept over most of Vincent's face and stayed there. And Cid allowed himself a mental pat on the back for a job well done. He'd learned some things about Vincent, from the few facts he managed to drag into the open, and it confirmed for him that the guy was actually more than a _little_ off in the head, but had damned good reason for it. Fucking ShinRa and their fucking-- everything.

The fire was starting to die back, and most of the others had already left. Cid gave his spear one last pass with the whetstone, bundled up his stuff, and clapped Vincent casually on the shoulder as he got up and headed off to bed. The man gave him a slow farewell nod in return, and Cid tried not to feel too gratified. He'd made some progress, he knew, but still had a long way to go if he was to get the guy to stop taking himself so seriously.

'Cause really, no one should go through life with that big a stick up their ass.

* * *

It wasn't long after the incident with the Corel train that he finally started to think that he was really getting somewhere. Sprawled out in one of the chairs in the command room of the Highwind-- and _that_ still got to him every gods-damned time, having his ship back again-- eyes closed as he waited for the news that they were approaching Mideel, he heard the door quietly open and then close again.

He tensed only briefly, in the moments before his subconscious recognized the sounds and told him to stand down. Then, a moment later, he tensed again as his conscious mind caught up and told him just what it was he was hearing: footfalls nearly silent, but for the faintest of jingles, and an odd rustling--

He opened his eyes to find Vincent watching him inscrutably from across the table.

He couldn't help but feel surprised-- surprised that _Vincent _had actually approached _him_, since it'd always been the other way around. Not that Vincent ever turned him away if he decided to chat, or tried to leave, anymore-- they had a kind of truce going. But he was fairly sure the other man had never before gone out of his way like this to seek him out.

He was even _more_ startled when Vincent actually opened his mouth and spoke first. "You drove well today," he said hesitantly, and it took a minute for Cid to figure out he was talking about the train. It wasn't what he'd expected to hear-- if he'd expected anything at all-- since he'd thought they'd already covered that topic. But what the hell, it if got the other guy to talk--

"Wasn't so different from the Bronco," he answered with a shrug. "One machine's pretty much like all the rest, when you get down to the base of it."

Vincent nodded slowly, the tense line of his shoulders relaxing, and Cid knew he'd done something right. "Yes, you have quite an affinity with machinery," Vincent said, almost to himself. And then before Cid could think of how to respond to that odd praise, Vincent was stepping forward, shaking back his cape, and extending his shining golden hand.

Cid sat frozen in his chair for yet another moment-- Shiva's tits, the guy was just full of surprises that day-- but even through his shock, he immediately noticed something not quite right. The little finger of the metal hand was curled, motionless, even as the other fingers twitched slightly in reflexive recoil. Cid frowned. "What happened?"

One of Vincent's shoulders lifted and fell in a slow shrug. "One of the encounters today-- I didn't notice it until after the fact." He turned the hand slightly, flexing it, metal joints moving smoothly and silently but for the one. "I had wondered," he continued after a moment, "if you might be able to fix it."

This time, the moment of surprise passed almost instantly-- maybe he was getting used to it, or maybe it was just drowned out by anticipation. He leaned forward, reaching out, nearly quivering at the chance to finally get a look at that hand close up.

And it was just as impressive as he'd thought it would be. Each of the surface plates was finished with a fine tracery of lines-- and not just as a random after-product of the forging, but tooled on deliberately in what must have been an exhaustively tedious process. Beneath the surface was a delicate system of pulleys and gears and wires that looked eerily like what he thought the inside of a real hand would look like, with its bones and tendons and muscles laid bare. Each piece of the whole was done with the same painstaking quality, each tiny wheel and gear appearing flawless no matter how he squinted at them. After a moment, he shook his head, admiring. "This is one fucking _fine_ piece of equipment."

At the words, Vincent jerked his hand roughly away. Cid looked up, startled, to see the other's face just as closed off as it had been when they'd first met-- not quite hostile, but certainly not friendly, like Cid _hadn't_ been forcibly dragging the guy into something approximating a friendship for nearly a month.

He was surprised to find how much that bothered him. "Hey," he said with an uncertain grin. "What'd I say?"

The silence stretched-- and then wavered and faded, and Vincent's blank expression cracked. "Your pardon," was all he said, though, shaking his head faintly. "It's nothing."

Which was a load of shit, as far as Cid was concerned, because it was very obviously _something_. But if Vincent wasn't going to explain himself, well, Cid was certainly willing to wait until such time as he could drag the truth out of the guy _without_ getting himself kicked in the process. Until then, he'd just have to make a mental note not to be _too_ obvious when he drooled over the arm.

"Well," he said instead, "I think I see what the problem is. Just a few things gone out of whack, shouldn't be too hard to fix. Kinda surprised it hasn't happened before." Cid stood, giving Vincent a push towards one of the chairs. Telling the guy very firmly to stay _put_, he headed towards the door and tried to remember where he'd left his toolkit.


	2. Brooding, Booze, and Conversation

Cid decided, after a suitable interval of study, that Vincent was moping.

More than usual, anyway, he corrected himself. It showed in the way the guy huddled under his cape like he could disappear into it, and in the exaggerated slowness of his steps. In the way he said more and more of those dumbass things he did-- all doom and gloom and hopeless melodrama.

The guy really had moping down to an art form, Cid had to admit. It was almost a shame to ruin it.

Almost.

He came up behind Vincent and slapped a hand down onto one slumped shoulder. "C'mon, let's go." And without further word, he started walking away.

After a moment, he heard footsteps start to follow him, and grinned-- he'd figured that curiousity would get Vincent started, at least, and maybe later on momentum would keep him moving. The key with Vincent was to just not give him any other choice.

"Where are we going?" he heard after a moment.

"Second sector," he answered, pointing to the appropriate sign as they passed it.

Silence held for a moment. "And what will we be doing there?" came next, the words laced with the faintest hint of exasperation.

"Drinking, hopefully," he answered cheerily. "Assuming they haven't shut the place down."

He heard the footsteps behind him stop, but didn't let himself slow down. "Drinking," came the flat echo from behind.

"Yeah. This place I used to like usually has a two-for-one thing going. They've got some weird mixed stuff, homemade shit and stuff like that, but you're usually fine if you just stick to the beer."

He heard a heavy sigh. "Surely you could ask one of the others to accompany you."

"Nope." And it was true-- he'd made sure to wait until everyone was firmly settled for the night, taking advantage of the lack of emergencies and explosions to finally have some down time. Barett had been passed out and sawing logs within five minutes of finding their rooms; Cloud had gone off with his sword somewhere, and no one was about to chase after him for anything short of Sephiroth himself. The rest were just as decidedly busy, and after a moment Cid heard the sigh that meant Vincent knew it too. "And I hate," Cid finished pointedly, "to drink alone. It's fucking pathetic."

He kept walking, and eventually heard the footsteps start behind him again. Pulling a cig out of his pocket, he lit it and drew in deep, slowing his steps just enough to let the other man catch up.

It didn't take them long to get where they were going-- Junon wasn't small, but it was no Midgar, and Cid had been there enough in the past to know his way around. And _damned_ if it wasn't good to be back in something like civilization, even if just for a little while, even if it did usually end up being more trouble than it was worth. The lights and voices, the shine of metal and glass-- it would lose its appeal before too long, but after weeks and weeks of wandering the wilderness, it was a damned welcome bit of relief.

Cid snagged two glasses off the bar as they entered, weaving through the mix of bodies and chairs, finally finding seats off to one side. He tipped his glass back and took a long drink; came back down with a contented sigh to find Vincent staring dubiously into his own glass. "Aw, c'mon, drink up-- you don't want to waste my money, do ya?"

Red eyes flicked up to him briefly. "I suppose not." Still looking dubious, Vincent lifted the glass and took a brief sip.

"Atta boy!" Cid grinned and lifted his glass again, setting it down when it was empty. He craned his neck around, waving at the server until she came close enough to hear. "Two more."

Vincent made a faint noise of protest. "I'm not finished--"

"Drink faster, then." Cid took a swallow of his new glass, still grinning across the table as Vincent gave a long-suffering sigh. "Shit, man, you're gonna have me thinking you don't like my company, if you keep on sounding like that." He let the silence stand for just a moment, while he drank again, before continuing with carefully casual curiousity. "What's your problem, anyway?"

Vincent looked reluctant, but that was nothing new, and Cid had long since overcome any distaste he might have had for forcing the other man into things. Vincent needed it, really-- needed someone to pry him out of his own head sometimes-- and though he never actually said anything, Cid knew that someday the guy'd thank him for it. Probably.

Sure enough, the expression soon shifted into resignation under the weight of Cid's expectant stare. "We found-- a cave. While you were gone back to Rocket Town."

Cid tried to wait, but it didn't seem like the pause was ever going to end. "And?" he prompted.

Another flick of red eyes. "Lucrecia was there."

Cid blinked. "Lucrecia? Who-- oh. _Oh_. You mean--" He blinked some more, honestly surprised. He'd known from past conversations that there had been a chick involved somewhere in Vincent's past, and had suspected it even before it was mentioned-- there usually was, when a guy's life managed to get that fucked up, not that he had _any_ experience with that sort of thing. But Vincent hadn't mentioned her name, before-- and he'd kinda given the impression that she was kinda _dead_. "How--"

Vincent gave one of those slow, one-shouldered shrugs he liked so much. "Her ghost, perhaps. I'm not certain. It has been-- on my mind, since then," he admitted. "She said some things--" He trailed off, staring with brooding intensity off into space.

"Hunh," Cid said with feeling, then shook his head. "Tough fucking luck. Here, have another drink."

Vincent blinked once with his face gone completely blank-- and then suddenly it looked like he was getting _angry_. Cid could see it in the tightening of the other's face, the narrowing of his eyes and the tension building in his shoulders. Vincent looked down at the glass that had been shoved towards him and his lip curled in unmistakable disdain. "Your pardon for wasting your time with my insignificant problems," he said with low, biting sarcasm. "If I'm interrupting your alcohol binge, by all means--"

"Oh, don't fucking start," Cid snapped, cutting the other man off before he could get to the part where he was going to _leave_. "What, you want me to pat you on the back and tell you how sorry I am that you and your girl got fucked over like that? Well, fine, I am, and you should have damned well _known_ that already. But what the fuck am I supposed to do about it? What are _you_ gonna fucking do? It's done. Sitting here drooping like a wet chocobo isn't going to change anything."

"And getting _drunk_," the words was spoken sharply, distastefully, "will?"

Cid shrugged, then grinned a sharp, sideways smile. "Nah. But it sure can't hurt." And he lifted his glass to his lips, watching Vincent over the rim.

Vincent looked at him, looked down at the drink in his hands-- looked back at Cid, at the drink-- then reached out, lifted the glass and, in one long pull, drained it.

Cid nearly _cheered_.

In fact, later on in the evening, he thought he might have done, but he couldn't quite remember it clearly enough to say. He distinctly remembered _other_ points of the night-- the ill-fated dart game with that poxy little shit from Wutai, the one that nearly got them kicked out, _that_ part he remembered. And the one where he broke his chair and went sprawling to the floor-- unfortunately, that memory was there too. And of course the continued pouring of alcohol into Vincent--

Though maybe in retrospect it had been a bad idea to lead by example and match the other guy for drinks-- Vincent'd never _said_ whether the fucking-over he'd got from the scientists had come with a boosted metabolism, but as the bar closed down and kicked them all out onto the street, Cid was giving the possibility some serious thought. Vincent was keeping himself upright, and supporting most of Cid's weight, _and_ managing to walk in something like a straight line, even though Cid knew damned well just how many pints the guy had put away.

It was enough to earn Cid's lifelong respect. Assuming, of course, he remembered any of it in the morning.


	3. Sand, Sweat, and Adrenaline

Slumped against a lump of stone, Cid tried to keep as still as possible in the dry heat. Tried to keep from shifting although he was restless, and itchy, and so very gods-be-damned _tired_ of sitting around and waiting for something to happen. Tired of the whole fucking thing, really, except they were all so far in there was no even thinking about going back now. So, wait it was-- wait for Cloud to get back with the Highwind, wait for them to get the chocobos up to the Saucer and race them, wait for the bastards who ran the fucking place to count their money, then probably wait some more for who the fuck knew what.

He ran a hand over his face, scrubbing dryly at the dust caked there, at the salt of old sweat, and grumbled silently at himself. He was just talking out of his ass, and he knew it, because who the hell was it who had volunteered to stay while the others went back to the farm? Who agreed they should split the group for reasons that must have made some sense at the time-- though fucked if he could think of them now, three days and what felt like a hundred shitty little pathetic monsters later. The stupid things just kept _coming_, and not a one of them was worth the challenge, they were dead almost before they could make a move. Hardly worth getting excited over, but his stupid body didn't know the difference and so he ended up itchy and restless with more than just the heat-- leftover adrenaline, maybe, unspent and building up in his blood-- and nothing to do but sit and endure it.

He didn't even have any smokes. The ungrateful bastards who'd taken his ship better have remembered to pick him up some more.

Metal scraped on stone, attracting his attention. Vincent was just sitting there, still wrapped up neck to knees despite everything, looking just as irritatingly unruffled as when they'd been dropped there three days previous. But as Cid looked he caught a movement-- a slow shift, a flex and release of muscles that might not even have been conscious.

Cid didn't bother to bite back his smirk. If even Mr. So-Cool Valentine was feeling antsy, that somehow made the entire thing a little more bearable.

Half-consciously watching those slow twitches of movement-- there was certainly nothing else going on, and it was marginally more interesting than the inside of his eyelids-- Cid wondered absently exactly how long they'd been there, how long it'd take before they got to leave, how long before he could find a _shower_, maybe, and get this itching to stop. Not that it would help the itch under his skin, but he imagined it would still feel fucking amazing. It might be enough.

And Meteor might just decide to go away, and maybe a brand new spaceship would fall out of nowhere and hit him on the ass. Either option was just as likely to happen, since it sure didn't seem like they were getting out of there anytime soon. If only there was something to _do_\--

Vincent shifted, and Cid was suddenly, completely aware that he was staring at Vincent's thigh-- flexing and relaxing, over and over, a long slow ripple of muscle-- and had been for quite some time. And he somehow knew that there were eyes watching him watch that thigh-- Vincent wasn't unobservant by any stretch of the imagination, so it's not like he wouldn't have noticed.

Cid lifted his eyes to meet that stare, finding a slow, crawling burn behind the red-- the same kind of subsurface shifting that he'd noticed the very first time they met, only a little more obvious. Ever since that Chaos creature had first appeared, Vincent had been a little sharper around the edges, like his beasts were that much closer to the surface. It wasn't immediately noticeable. Didn't always show through the control Vincent kept over himself.

At that moment, under the weight of the heat and the waiting and the frustration-- it showed.

Without speaking, Vincent stood and started walking in Cid's direction-- slow, purposeful, all leashed violence and liquid intent. And something in Cid shrugged and said why not, and another part was relieved to finally be doing something, and another part altogether reared its head and said _yes_.

He started to get up to meet the other man's approach, but suddenly Vincent was _there_, and Cid's back was hitting the dirt hard-- not for long, as he caught the body lowering towards his and rolled it, caught the claws coming in close and pinned them to the ground over Vincent's head. There was a leg between his-- lips drawn back from teeth-- blood in his mouth as something bit where it shouldn't have. Muscles twisting under him, and hot leather against his skin, and a hand pressed in hard and _rubbing_, sweet gods and fucking demons-- until all of the tension coiled and tightened and snapped in one gut-wrenching spasm that made all the colour drain out of the world.

Cid rolled to his side, then the rest of the way onto his back when all of the exhaustion from the last three days seemed to catch up at once. As marvelously relaxed as only a good fuck could make him, he lay for a moment and enjoyed the way all of the itchy tension was just-- gone.

Not that he needed a shower any less, he had to admit when he tried to move and found his pants sticking to him in new and uncomfortable ways. But it was still an improvement.

Vincent shifted, and Cid managed to turn his head and glance to the side. He watched as Vincent's eyes drifted slowly open-- somewhat vague, calmer than before-- and had a moment in which to feel a smug kind of satisfaction.

Then Vincent blinked, and drew in on himself, and was coiling himself as if to stand-- even though Cid was sure the guy had to be just as weary as he was, was sure now that the days had taken their toll, no matter what kind of front Vincent wanted to put up. But there was an odd sense about him, kind of stiff, kind of uncomfortable, and Cid nearly groaned as he realized what was going on. He had become reasonably well versed in translating Vincent's silences. This one was a guilty kind of silence, like the kind he got after changing in battle. One that suggested Vincent was going to start beating himself up for whatever dumbass reason was going through his head.

The obvious possibility was laughable-- yeah, it had kinda been Vincent's idea in the first place, or at least his initiative. But it's not like Cid had _argued_, so fucked if he was going to let the guy get weird over it. Under normal circumstances, he'd just ignore the melodramatics until Vincent got over himself. However-- freshly relaxed and with the last dregs of his energy fading into exhaustion, Cid was not in the mood to be patient.

He reached out with one hand and took a tight handful of Vincent's pant leg as the guy moved his leg within range. "Where the fuck are you going?"

Vincent didn't quite look at him. "We both can't sleep-- someone has to watch."

Cid snorted. "You can watch just fine from here." And waited.

And Vincent was silent for a moment, then huffed out a breath of sound that was half resigned and half amused. "Of course I can." He settled his weight back to the ground, not quite sitting, leaning in apparent comfort against the rocks.

After eyeing him carefully for a moment, Cid grunted approval, relaxing his grip. He rolled over, trying vainly for some measure of comfort himself-- sparing a moment and a sour expression to envy Vincent his freakish ability to just perch _anywhere_\-- and eventually settled on his back with hands tucked behind his head. He let out a long breath that turned to a yawn partway through and, vaguely reassured by the presence of another body close by, finally drifted off to sleep.


	4. Midnight, Musings, and Revelations

The town was dark and quiet, as he'd expected it to be. It was long past sunset-- closer to sun_rise_\-- and so Vincent had his solitude as he paced the edges of the streets. Everyone else would have retired hours past, would be sleeping in preparation for another long day ahead. _Cid_ would be sleeping, sprawled and not quite snoring, and Vincent was for a moment so aware of that fact he had to stop and blink and shake his head until his focus returned.

Cid. Of late, it was usually the pilot that made Vincent's thoughts twist. How one man could be so-- so _distracting_ was beyond him. And yet there Cid was, relentless and overwhelming, always managing to come along at just the right moment to intrude upon Vincent's thoughts. Seemingly determined to drag Vincent down with him into whatever pit of vice he was pursuing at the time.

He had yet to convince Vincent to get into the saddle of a chocobo, but it wasn't for lack of trying.

Not that it wasn't-- _convenient_, the arrangement they had. Quite the opposite. It was useful to have an easy source of physical release, a way to remove that particular brand of stress when it made itself known. It was even somewhat pleasant, if he had to admit it, and Cid certainly didn't make it difficult-- he was undemanding, straightforward, and usually willing to take the initiative, all things that Vincent appreciated most of the time. But it was still an indulgence he didn't deserve to take, he reminded himself firmly. Still something that was distracting and altogether _confusing_\--

He found himself standing just outside the inn, staring up at one particular window. With a hiss of breath and a sudden flash of irritation, he jerked himself away and resumed his walk.

He kept to the shadows by habit and instinct, still mostly lost in his thoughts. It wasn't Cid that had driven him out to walk the night, after all, at least not entirely. He had been increasingly troubled for some time, though he didn't fully understand why. It seemed to him that something was different, something beyond their meandering journey from place to place, beyond the expected shifts of people around him and weather overhead. Something that he couldn't quite grasp even though it _should_ have been obvious, he felt, especially out in the clear silence of the night--

And he stopped in his tracks, frozen between one step and the next, as he realized.

The night _was_ silent-- entirely too much so. The mutters in the back of his mind, the hungers and threats, they were gone. Somewhere along the line, he must have lost track of them, stopped listening, let his attention be drawn elsewhere-- and how _careless _of him to let his caution lapse like that. How utterly _irresponsible_. The things that might have happened, the horror he could have caused-- it left him cold to his core, but also quite suddenly _angry _at the people and the situations that had drawn him into such carelessness.

The sudden memory of cigarette smoke made his lip curl.

Except--

The anger slowly banked, replaced by puzzlement again. His control had slipped, and yet nothing had happened. And that, perhaps, was the most troubling part of it all. He hadn't heard any commotion from within. The beasts hadn't taken advantage of his inattention to leap upon the unwary, to overcome his control and take their pleasure in the warm blood of his-- his _friends_. It was strange; they'd always been restless, before. Seemed like they would swallow him whole the moment he faltered.

He looked within, and for a moment he couldn't find them. And for just that moment, an unreasoning terror took him-- fear that they'd escaped him somehow, that they'd gone off on their own and were rampaging, causing countless deaths that were on _his _head because it was_ his _responsibility to keep them contained. It was a ridiculous notion, but it washed over him in a wave nonetheless and left him actually trembling.

After a moment of breathless silence he heard them at last-- growling at each other as if restless in their shared confinement, giving little rumbled mutters of hunger that shivered along his bones. Only Chaos was silent, though that was certainly no comfort-- he could _feel _the weight of its attention, sharp and hungry and amused at Vincent's distress. The others were dangerous yet simple in their desires, but Chaos was somehow _more _than they, and all the more frightening for it. There was a sharp intelligence lurking beneath its bloodlust; he could feel that in the way it was always watching, learning, _waiting_.

The others were a burden, but one he had almost become accustomed to bearing. Chaos made him afraid again, as he hadn't been since the very beginning. Afraid that someday it would defeat him, would devour him from the inside out, would find a way to _become_ him to the point where there was no changing back.

But it hadn't quite happened, not yet. In fact-- it seemed that nothing had changed at all, despite everything, and for a moment Vincent was both relieved and disappointed. The beasts were still there; he was still their guardian and vessel. Their voices were just as loud as always, now that he was listening for them, with Chaos' silent attention somehow the loudest of all.

Why, then, did he _still _feel as though something was different, if it was so clearly obvious that nothing had changed?

He found a place to sit, a little jut of half-built wall, and drew himself up onto it. Settling into place, he let out a slow breath and stared out into the darkness without seeing any of it. He let himself be lost to the puzzle, turning it over and over in his mind-- and growing increasingly frustrated as he made no progress whatsoever.

He hissed out another breath, involuntarily clenched his hands-- and flinched at the sudden stab of pain that flashed through him. Looking down, he saw blood on his palm, red-black in the moonlight, seeping up from where the sharp edge of the stone had cut in. At the sight of it, the beasts stirred-- he blinked, halfway startled, because they'd mostly faded away again while he'd been lost in thought. And that-- that was unusual.

An exasperated little voice came into his thoughts, not one of the usual ones. _When you look hard enough at something_, it said in a suspicious Rocket Town drawl,_ it always comes out bigger than life. Why the hell are you surprised?_

Holding his breath, Vincent sat in complete stillness for a moment. Then, for the first time, he deliberately tried to ignore his demons, forcing his attention elsewhere. After a moment the voices faded away into silence. He listened, and they returned.

Vincent blinked, distantly surprised to find himself still sitting on the wall, staring at the subtle plays of shadow on black. He felt cold, nearly shaking with it, though the night was warm.

It did make a kind of sense, though it went against all of his instincts. He had been listening to them so hard, for so long, that it was inevitable he would take every mutter and turn it into a roar. Until it happened that his attention was forced elsewhere, until the intensity of observation was taken away, breaking the obsession and restoring something more like normal perspective.

He listened to them again; there was an odd tone of suspicion in Chaos' silence, an uneasy restlessness that drew Vincent's attention. Testing, he turned his attention away again-- stared at the sky and forced himself to remember the names of the stars, taught to him so long ago-- and felt what was unmistakeably a dull red surge of anger and frustration. And suddenly he knew, he_ knew _that this was something the demon had known and been keeping from him.

He had to wonder-- he knew that if they could have broken away from him, they would have done so without even a heartbeat of hesitation. Which meant that his moment of inattention-- hadn't been enough to give them their freedom.

They were there, they _were _part of him, and that wasn't likely to change without more experimentation-- and he would never go back to that, not _ever_ again, not even for that. But perhaps they didn't have as much power as he had thought. Perhaps they weren't as large a part of him as he had been led to believe. Perhaps his constant watchfulness wasn't necessary, after all.

Perhaps--

He drew a deep breath; let it out again in an unsteady stream. It was a revelation-- such a small thing to realize, really, to have such an effect. But it went against everything he'd thought, every instinct he'd ingrained in himself while locked away in the dark, with nothing to see but the inside of his eyelids and nothing to hear but the voices in his head. It was strange to think that he might not be consumed by what he had become, that it didn't own him as much as he had thought-- strange that it had taken the distraction of one infuriating and fascinating man to make him slip far enough to finally see it.

He could still hear Cid's voice, quite clear in his memory, saying with no hint of doubt that Vincent wasn't a monster. Over time, he had come to accept that the other man believed that. But he'd never before entertained the possibility that it might actually be _true_.

Something in him flinched from the thought-- it was too much to consider, in the darkness and the moonlight, with that red anger lurking too close beneath the surface of him. He thought of the warmth of the inn, and how Cid wouldn't do more than grumble in his sleep and roll over, should Vincent decide to slide into his bed with him. How he would wake in the morning with an arm thrown heavily over his waist and smoke-tainted breath on his face, but perhaps it might be worth it. Perhaps it would be enough to let him figure out where to go from there.

He sat for another long moment, then nodded slightly to himself. He leaped lightly back to the ground, and turned back towards the faint square of light that marked the inn's door, eyes fixed on the darkened window above it.


	5. Endings and Beginnings

Meteor was gone, solid rock vanished into nothing-- which was creepy as all hell if he stopped to think about it-- though the signs of it were still everywhere. Midgar was in the process of settling, and great plumes of dust would occasionally shoot up and stain the air grey as weakened structures collapsed. You could hear the sounds of it even in the dark, rumbling and crashing in the not-so-distance. Could feel it shake the ground even while you slept.

But the sun was shining-- so very bright when none of them had really believed they'd see it again. And they were all, despite any expectations to the contrary, still alive.

Dumb fucking luck, Cid thought, shaking his head. But really, he was kinda coming to expect that sort of thing.

Hard to believe it was over. Didn't seem possible, really-- how long had it been, now, anyway? A month or more-- a year? Only a week? It seemed impossible to tell. Impossible to remember the before, in the face of everything that had changed.

And yet, at the same time--

Cid crouched, poking through the scattered bits of his ship that they'd recovered, already seeing the beginnings of plans in his head. The propellers on the Highwind had always been the slightest bit off-balance, after all, but if he moved the supports in just _so_, and changed the angle of the keel like _that_\--

He turned his head, imagining the sparkle of ocean water in the distance, and wondered at how he was almost looking _forward_ to returning to Rocket Town. His shop, his tools, his space, the time and peace to work--

And Shera. He winced. There was an apology due there that he wasn't fully ready to make. All sorts of shit to sort out. He looked back towards the piles of scrap on the ground, and wondered if it was worth another trip up north to scavenge, after all-.

A voice called his name, warped by distance and the background clamour of the burgeoning city-- Edge, they were already calling it. Little shacks and lean-tos huddled against the borders of where Midgar used to be, where dust still drifted and settled over everything, and debris sometimes fell close enough to touch. He wasn't sure if he admired or pitied them: bravely rebuilding on the foundations of their ruin, or sadly unable to move on from the past? Maybe a bit of both.

As he turned, a flicker of motion caught his eye-- Tifa, waving to catch his attention. He strolled in close enough to hear her call that there was food ready-- though probably little of it, with the way supplies were-- and he nodded before she slipped back around one of their improvised tents.

He stopped, a little way out, and pulled out his pack of smokes-- carefully counting what remained before pulling out a stick and flicking the lighter, drawing in a careful breath so as not to waste any. Supplies were supposed to be in from Kalm the next day, or the day after at the very latest. Then from Junon, whenever that relief crew Reeve arranged for ever actually got off their asses. Everything had to be rationed until then, and likely for a long time after, since there were so many people left with nothing at all. Cigarettes, to his dismay, were not going to be a high priority item for a while. But hell, maybe this would be the incentive he needed, to finally listen to all the people who'd ever nagged him to quit.

He drew a breath, feeling the smoke settle in along his nerves, and snorted. Not likely, but it was a nice thought.

As Cid came in close he saw that the others were present already, familiar faces gathered in the center of the circle of tents. They'd made themselves their own little camp, a bit separate from the rest of the refugees. Cid stopped again at the edge of it, just watching, wondering once more at how things changed. Once upon a time, they'd just been a bunch of crazy assholes who'd wrecked his ship. Now-- well, they were still loony as hell, but all things considered, he probably wasn't one to talk about that. And somehow, the thought of splitting off and going his own way again didn't quite sit well in his gut.

More movement caught at the corner of his eye, and instinct made him follow it. He found Vincent standing by himself as usual-- not hiding in the shadows, for once, but standing out in the open, staring at the sky with a look that Cid thought he could recognize. It was the same sort of look he'd probably been wearing himself, earlier, while staring out at an imaginary horizon and thinking too much.

He strolled up, sucking the last bit of smoke out of his cigarette before regretfully grinding the butt beneath his boot. He settled with his hands in his pockets beside Vincent, following the other man's gaze up into the sky. "Nice view," he said after a moment.

Vincent said nothing, and Cid just shrugged, not really expecting any different. He'd never seen the point of idle conversation when just getting to point usually worked better, anyway. "Guess it's finally over, hunh?" he continued. "Sephiroth's dead, the planet's saved and all that shit."

Vincent inclined his head, admitting the point.

"So. What now? You gonna vanish into the sunset or something? Go nap for another decade or two?"

Red eyes flicked to him briefly, then back to the sky. "I don't know."

Cid squinted into the sun, and waited. After a moment, those eyes flicked over to him once more. "I've never thought about-- after," Vincent reluctantly elaborated.

Cid chewed his lip for a moment, then gave a mental shrug and pulled out another cigarette-- hell, he was going to run out sooner or later anyway, and conversations with Vincent usually made him need the nicotine. "Yeah, me neither." He drew in a deep breath, watched the smoke as it dissipated. "What do you _want_ to do?"

Vincent sighed faintly, gaze lowering to the ground. "I don't know."

Cid glanced at him-- and made up his mind right then, partially for himself, but also partially in answer to that _look_ on Vincent's face. "Well, I'm gonna go back up north for a bit, see if I can find any more pieces of my ship to salvage." He gave a deliberately casual shrug. "Could use some extra hands, if you didn't have any other plans."

Because he was watching, Cid saw something like gratitude in Vincent's face as he nodded.


End file.
